Phobos now rose in the skies of the Mother of us all.
Don’t tread on me.
Dickinson sat where I had left him, Gretyl nearby. They seemed at peace, content to play their roles in this grand comeuppance. It would be almost an hour before a message could be sent from Earth. Until then, he was mine to toy with, and I felt more than wicked.
As ignorant as Dickinson , the legislators resumed their seats after standing at my entrance.
“Mr. Dickinson,” I said, “I refuse your ultimatum. I’m placing you under arrest. Under the laws of the Federal Republic of Mars…” I consulted my slate, leaned over the table, and pointed my finger at him, “you are accused of high crimes against the Republic, including treason, espionage, not registering as a foreign agent, and threatening the security of the Republic.” I turned to Gretyl. “You, too, honey,” I said.
Dickinson glanced at the four Cailetet aides. He turned back to rne, blinking. His equanimity impressed me no end. “That’s your answer?” he said.
“No. My answer to you and the groups you represent is that at the duly appointed time and under the proper circumstances, when order has been restored to this Republic and all threats have been rescinded, we will discuss issues of substance with properly identified Earth governments like civilized peoples. There will be a quorum of elected and appointed officials in this chamber, and duly recognized diplomats and negotiators from Earth. We’ll do it legally and openly.”
Gretyl lost some of her bearing; she flicked her eyes around the chamber like a deer in a cage. I remembered intense Gretyl ripping away her mask, willing to martyr herself on the Up. And I remembered, with sad clarity, how I had once thought Sean Dickinson the most noble male figure I had ever seen — brave, quiet and forthright. Had he offered, I would have bedded him instantly. And in bed he would have been quiet and reserved, a little chilly. I would have fallen into destructive love with him. He would have torn me up and discarded me.
I felt blessed for never having had that opportunity.
“Are you certain that’s what you want me to say?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. ‘Tell Crown Niger and Earth that your credentials are not acceptable.” I turned to Dandy. “After he’s done,” I said, “arrange for their arrest. All of them.”
Governor Henry Smith of Amazonis seemed close to fainting.
Dickinson stood, face suddenly ashen. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said.
For a moment, we stared at each other. Sean blinked, turned away slowly, and said, “I never trusted you. Not from the beginning.”
“I would have given my life for you,” I said. “But I was young and stupid.”
I’d like to pull back now and take a moment to rest and rethink my telling. I remember the emotions of that moment so vividly that I am back in that chamber. I wrote the above lines weeping like a young girl. It was the high moment of my life, perhaps because what came after was too sad and immense to be real.
From this time on, events fall in my memory like dead creatures across an old sea floor, flat and compressed, unreal.
I do not say I was not responsible. I was more involved, and therefore more responsible, than most; the blame has fallen squarely on me, and I accept it.
Phobos appeared in the skies over Earth in a broad elliptical orbit inclined at thirty degrees to the equator with a perigee of one thousand kilometers and apogee of seven thousand.
Phobos’s bright face, quickly waxing and waning, changed the entire equation as nothing else could. Mars could drop moons on Earth. In the strategic balance, we now tipped the scales.
Earth did not know that on Phobos rode the equipment and the individuals essential to the wielding of this power. What they did not know, weakened them.
And what Earth would soon know or guess could ultimately weaken us.
The evolvons withdrew within six hours, on command from Earth’s satellites around Mars. Those satellites then self-destructed, leaving tiny streaks of red against the dark sky. We received assurances that locusts had not been planted; confusion and weakness, for the moment, forced us to accept that. Mars began to come alive again; its dataflow blood coursed.
The networks of communication set up by amateurs in the preceding days were charted, formalized, organized, made ready for further duties. We would not be caught so vulnerable again. In stations across Mars, engineers rigged simpler, more secure dataflow systems, setting us back fifty years or more, but guaranteeing that we would breathe, drink clean water, see no more the vivid horror of vacuum rose in blown-out tunnels.
Mars began counting its dead, and every horror was broadcast around the Triple. Earth’s tactics had backfired — for the time being.
Alice One and Two were among the casualties. Half of the high-level thinkers could not be reactivated. Their memory stores were salvaged, and portions of personality could be recorded for use in other thinkers, but the essence — the soul of the thinker — was gone. I could not mourn her; there was too much to mourn. If I began to mourn, it would never stop; and I still waited for word of Ilya and Ti Sandra.
For two days, shuttles and trains coursed into the new capital, bringing legislators, jurists, eager to re-confirm the Republic’s independence, its very existence; bringing fresh equipment, experts determined to sweep again and clean out the pollution of Earth.
For two days, I coordinated as President, knowing my position was temporary — believing but not knowing for sure that Ti Sandra was alive somewhere. I worried that she did not present herself now. It wasn’t like her not to take the slight risk. Politics demanded that she return, if only to reassure the citizens of Mars.
I did not sleep, barely had time to eat, and I moved from station to station around Arabia Terra by train and shuttle, spending no more than a few hours in one place at any time. We did not trust Earth’s statements. Once betrayed, a hundred times shy.
Five days after the Phobos transfer, I was invited to observe its return from an observation dome in Paschel Station near Cassini Basin . The governor of Arabia Terra, Lexis Caer Cameron, three of her top aides, Dandy Breaker, and Lieh Walker stood beside me under a broad plastic dome. We lifted glasses of champagne, looking east this time.
“I wish to hell I knew what this all means,” Governor Cameron said.
“So do I,” I said.
Lieh ventured a rare opinion. “It means we never have to knuckle under again.”
I smiled but could not share her optimism. Our triumph would be short-lived.
“Thirty seconds,” Lieh said.
We waited. I could barely think through my accumulated exhaustion. I needed a full body cleanse; hell, I felt as if I could use a whole new body.
Phobos winked into existence, a crescent rising nine or ten degrees above the horizon. After a few measurements by Lieh, we confirmed that Phobos was back in its proper orbit.
The scary dog was home, apparently none the worse for its journey.
I did not drink my champagne. Thanking the governor, I handed her my glass, and Dandy escorted me quickly from the center. No time to linger…
Lieh made connections with new satcoms and showed me LitVid reaction throughout the Triple. I watched and listened silently, beyond numbness and into frozen isolation.
I hadn’t heard of Ilya since the Freeze — the name assigned by Martian LitVids to the brief war.
Around the Triple, the sense of outrage against Earth had flared, subsided, and flared anew, into a call for general boycotts by all space resource providers. That wasn’t practical — Earth had stockpiled resources for several years, as a hedge against market fluctuations. But the political repercussions would be serious.
Engineers in asteroid cities descended in close floating ranks on Terrie consulates, demanding explanations for the aggression.
The Moon, predictably, tried to keep a low profile. But even on the Moon, independent nets bristled with fearful, angry calls for resignations, investigations, recall plebiscites. A few independent Lunar BMs expressed solidarity with the beleaguered Federal Republic of Mars. I could feel the fear echoing across the Solar System, especially in the vulnerable Belts. Nobody in the Triple could trust the old Mother now.